


sit around and do nothing

by cloudsmove (ahealthyscalp)



Category: (여자)아이들 | (G)I-DLE
Genre: Drabbles, F/F, collection, oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24070819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahealthyscalp/pseuds/cloudsmove
Summary: A collection of pieces where I sit around and do nothing but drag mishu out of the grave.Latest: Miyeon watches Shuhua’s every move. Memorizing how anger takes form upon her face, how the tainted energy around her arm threatens to break free from its invisible seal.xianxia mishu part 2
Relationships: Cho Miyeon/Yeh Shuhua
Comments: 8
Kudos: 91
Collections: Cute reads





	1. holes in the cage so I'll say everything

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my mishu oneshot/drabbles collection. It's going to be only mishu until I decide to stop dragging them out of the grave. (Miyeon x Yuqi do be looking cute as well recently.)
> 
> 1\. holes in the cage so I'll say everything - feelings are like butterflies in bird cages  
> 2\. 19:54 - a villain is someone's hero   
> 3\. mares of the night - she obeys, basking in divinity  
> 4\. tmi, but my mind is a car wreck waiting to happen - baby, don't give me painkillers  
> 5\. celestial realms never suited you - mishu xianxia? mishu xianxia  
> 6\. red card - 2 idiots sentence the dead to different parts of the underworld  
> 7\. celestial realms never suited you pt 2 - more xianxia mishu to water our crops

Traffic is winding down, the cars racing past dwindling, never having to stop. They’d spot a lone car every few intersections. Empty streets, no stragglers in sight, red lights for miles. 

It’s just them on the sidewalk. Six shadows bouncing off the streetlights. 

The thick summer heat is one step from being suffocating. Miyeon is one step closer to screaming and running home. Frankly, the breeze is doing a terrible job of blowing away the feverish haze.

She stays though, walking shoulder to shoulder, linking arms. Feeling as though she has been transported into an old black and white movie where time has stopped. Pausing only for them. 

Satisfied with their lax walking pace, soaking in the evening air. Full and content. Bordering on rowdy and obnoxious. 

Their spirits are high, exams having finished, everyone returning. Coming home. It goes without saying heavy burdens have been lifted from their shoulders. 

Old habits never die and they lapse into the routine that was once their constant. Playful bickering, nonsensical musings leading to nowhere, only to end in uproarious fits of laughter. Under flickering yellow, their voices grow louder, reveling in this moment free of responsibility. 

“We ate too much. I feel like a walking potato. A literal bowl of ramen.” 

“Yuqi, if you’re a bowl of ramen, then what am I? The tonkatsu?” 

“Yeah, you’re the pig, thanks for admitting to it,” replies Yuqi. The group bursts into laughter, ignoring Shuhua’s cries of protest. “Yuqi!”

“No, no. You’re a cute pig. A piglet,” pipes up Soyeon. It does little to soothe Shuhua, the tension devolving into a petty fight, miming light punches, some of them occasionally landing. Accidentally, so they claim. 

After a year, Miyeon thought there would be some awkwardness. It’s a welcome surprise that there’s none. 

Squabbling, crass insults. Yuqi and Shuhua being at their wit's end with each other. The older girls fanning the flames whenever another amusing argument broke out. 

Miyeon doesn’t join in tonight, preferring to listen and watch. 

Everything seems funnier than usual. The tiniest quips make them snicker like they were still in highschool. Rewind to this morning, in broad daylight, and they would scoff at the same lame jokes. 

They’re young beneath the streetlights, returning to their invincible roots. Slipping back into their fearless personas which had been shed last summer. This is the first time in a long while with everyone together in one place. 

Miyeon smiles, it’s nice to see everyone. It’s even better to see they’re all doing well. They've all grown in plenty of ways. 

Bittersweet tinges dipped into her heart earlier. Jokes don’t dominate anymore; moments of soberness and clarity slide into their conversations as if they’ve always belonged. 

Realization doesn’t have to strike her in the cheek. It sinks in, drowning. Drowning slowly, a smooth caress telling her it’s okay. They’ve all grown up, having reached the end of their youthful innocence. Aware of the explosions on TV. The empty bellies in the city. 

Explosions and empty bellies. Not only is she childish, she’s a sentimental poet as well. Who describes adulthood in that way, opening the floodgates to purple prose? It must be the night air going to her head. 

Excessive reminiscing aside, she has also come to understand these moments are rare. Fleeting. She should enjoy them to the fullest and do what would terrify her before. 

Say everything she wants to say. Everything that has been hidden for far too long, fluttering and bounding, no longer wanting to be caged. 

“Your shoelaces are untied.” Shuhua nudges an elbow into her side, pointing, stopping in her tracks. Miyeon drops down on one knee.

“Oh. Thanks.” 

The chatter and hooting softens, the group moving on without them. Knowing they’ll catch up soon enough. The two of them are lagging behind, but Shuhua waits for her. Ever so patiently. 

A strong gust of wind blows, raising the hair on her arms. The deafening buzz of an engine closes the door to the caged butterfly. She swallows whatever she was going to say. 

“Oh my god, it’s the bus!” yells Minnie. The girl pulls, dragging Soojin along who groans softly, but runs anyway. Feet picking up, pounding on the pavement. 

“You can’t beat me slowpokes!” shouts Yuqi, sprinting. Turning everything into a competition. Soyeon is hot on Yuqi’s heels, arms stretched out behind her, imitating the characters from her favorite show to cackling approval. 

The bus is already way ahead, but it’s always possible that the driver would stop for them. 

Shuhua runs too. “Miyeon, hurry up!”

Fingers threading through, fumbling, tying those pesky laces. Light, nimble, and quick are not the words to describe how Miyeon moves. 

The others are all in the distance, seconds from the bus stop. Except for the one girl who has claimed a home within her thoughts. Grumpy-faced, running back to her. Hand extended. 

Maybe it’s not so bad if she misses the last bus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first thing I have to say is: CONFESS YOU COWARD. jk 
> 
> cinnamons x evening cinema - summertime was the inspiration this time around and I wanted to capture that nostalgic teenage summer feeling. I remember running down main streets at night with friends, forgoing the bus, yelling and singing at the top of our lungs. We weren’t hooligans, but maybe it was empty streets themselves that enabled us to let loose a bit :3
> 
> I think I accidentally made it too forlorn instead of being cute and bouncy, but I tried to write something more lighthearted. Oh well. 
> 
> So this is the beginning of a mishu collection (?) where I dump whatever I want here. I will post oneshots, drabbles, and anything that won’t become chaptered stories. The other gidle ships may be thriving with their fics, but I’m going to haul mishu out of the freezer whenever I listen to something that makes me go yes. It’s kinda funny how I’m writing more gidle pieces when I originally had no intention to continue past the first one. 
> 
> As usual, thanks for reading. 


	2. 19:54

_19:54_

Her reflection stares back at her, unmoving and cold. Clad in a dark navy outfit, disposable blue gloves. A baseball cap shielding her eyes. 

The metal doors groan, the entire box shaking with its ascent. 

The journey is smooth once the elevator has gone past the fourth floor. Shuhua watches the numbers tick, changing. A funky green arrow in motion beside them. 

She rolls down her sleeves. One hand reaching, grabbing the mop lying in the corner. 

Waiting.

Above, a _ding_ sounds, the green arrow disappearing. The elevator stops and the doors slide open. Her earpiece crackles, a deep feminine voice coming through. _You have five minutes, make it quick._

Shuhua walks out, steps confident. Back straight. She doesn't glance at the floor plan on display. 

The lights are on, but the spacious office is empty. Chairs tucked in, black computer screens, the workers have gone home.

_Don't cut me off this time._

Shuhua rips away her earpiece, pocketing it. 

Down the hall, to the left. She heads inside the main office, the mop trailing behind her. The man at the desk doesn’t look up, he grunts as acknowledgement, typing. Shuhua knocks on the door. 

“What do you want?” he says, eyes glued to his computer. She keeps quiet, tilting her cap. Finally, he looks at her. 

“I’ll be done in a few minutes, but if you could clean the other rooms first, that would be great,” he pauses, studying her, “are you new here?” 

Shuhua reaches into her other pocket. “Are you new here?” he repeats. “No.” 

He stands, pushing back his chair, coming closer. She sees gray and white, a well-tailored suit. A beige tie. Dress shoes with a shine to them. Even closer now. 

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you leave for a moment.” His tone is a little more aggressive. He really wants her to leave, doesn’t he? She stares, meeting his eyes. There’s no hint of fear in them.

“I was sent here to ask you something,” she begins. He tenses, hands balling into fists. “And what is that, you’re wasting my time,” he says. 

“Could you answer honestly, to the best of your ability?” She inches near him, expressionless, yet she keeps her voice pleasant to a certain degree, like they’re having a casual chat between acquaintances. 

“Where are the best art galleries in the world located? In your opinion of course, don’t tell me something I can read from a magazine,” she says. 

“Are you joking? Is this a prank?” Incredulous, but more so cautious, he backs away as if he senses danger. It could be that he deals with lunatics or Youtubers on a daily basis. She’s back to being a meter apart, but it’ll have to do. 

“I don’t ‘play pranks,’ Mr. Jung. Now tell me your answer.”

“I will call security if you don’t leave this instant,” he threatens. Hm. There’s definitely an edge to the way he said that. A bit of panic too.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. They’ve all been taken care of.” His eyes bulge, his hands shuffling to the phone on the desk. Ruffling papers, scattering neat piles. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t killed them,” she says. He still reaches for the phone, dialling. Face whitening. Shuhua imagines he must be very troubled. 

He drops the phone after a second. 

Shuhua looks around the office, spotting a clock. She has two more minutes left, the man is the one who’s wasting her time here. 

“I’ll have you know it wasn’t me who did it,” she adds. He retreats into the corner, fear apparent now. Scrambling for something sharp or heavy. 

Shuhua reminds herself that not everyone can handle strangers coming into an office unannounced. Asking questions of great significance to boot. Poor Mr. Jung is pointing a stapler at her, hands shaking, trembling. 

The complete opposite of the man she saw when she stepped in.

“It also wasn’t me who cut the phone lines, the wires, everything,” she gestures haphazardly, “CCTVs, they’re all down. Wasn’t me, rest assured.”

“What do you want? Why are you telling me this?” 

“I know you’ll be excellent at keeping secrets, Mr. Jung, that’s why I’m telling you everything. Other than that, please answer my question.” Shuhua glances at the clock, the long hand is touching the twelve, not yet at the centre. 

“I have only a minute left. You’re being rather… difficult,” she says sullenly. Baring her annoyance in the open. So she has to show him everything and then he’ll talk, right?

“Stay away from me!” His legs give way, he tumbles to the floor. With no more space to back into, nowhere to retreat. Terror screaming from his body. She supposes she has done a good job of startling him with the syringe in her hand. Squeezing it gently just so a negligible amount would be ejected. 

“I’ll ask you again because I posed my question two minutes ago and I’ve been told your brain is equivalent to a stick of celery. Even though you are the head of a multi-million empire,” Shuhua says. Advancing. “Where are the best art galleries in the world?”

“The Louvre, the Musée D’Orsay, France, hell, I don’t know! I only buy paintings every now and then to–”

“Evade taxes? You don’t have to confirm that I'm correct. I’m not that interested in being on the mark. Or in the local ‘eat the rich’ movements,” she interjects. 

They’re seconds away from eight o’clock and regrettably, she has no more time left to give. It’s unfortunate when he had just begun to give her answers. 

She never misses. 

Thick hands come to her neck, weakly grasping, trying to push her off. Choke her. Not that it matters. 

The needle in his neck has him motionless in seconds. Strolling out of the office, she slips her earpiece back in, expecting a begrudging Yuqi. “Job’s done.” 

_You cut me off. Again._ An audible sigh on the other end. _But you’re precise as ever, eight o’clock on the dot. Expect your payment by midnight._ “When have I ever failed?”

_Don’t make me say it. By the way, why were you asking him about art?_

“Maybe I want to go on vacation.”

* * *

When she closes the door, she sees Miyeon still up, on the couch. Knees curled, drawing on her tablet, biting her lip in concentration. Padding over, Shuhua sits on the nearest stool, craning her neck for a glimpse. 

“It’s late, go to bed,” says Shuhua. 

“I could say the same for you.” 

“Yes, but you know my shifts end late, what would Pizza Hut do without me?” Shuhua ditches the stool, slinking onto the couch. She rests her head on the older girl’s shoulder, seeking the steady rise and fall. “Your head is heavy,” murmurs Miyeon. 

“Why are you not sleeping?”

“My assignment is due in the morning. I have to pull an all-nighter.” At least the girl wasn’t waiting for her. 

“That sucks.” 

“Yeah, the things I do for my scholarship,” says Miyeon. 

“But you’re getting a full-ride. If I hadn’t told you about it, where would you be?” Shuhua closes her eyes, light pats on her head. Drawing out noncommittal hums.

“I don’t know, complaining about the banana duct-taped to the wall, I guess. It sold for $120,000.” 

“You’re already complaining about it.” Feeling Miyeon shift around, Shuhua grumbles, trying to keep the girl in place. “You’re warm, don’t go,” she adds. She doesn’t receive a snarky reply and then she knows something’s wrong. 

Yuqi instructs she should learn to read the room better and keep her mouth shut; she’s too talkative while performing murder. It also applies to other situations, but this is Miyeon. Who will ask if she doesn’t? 

“What’s on your mind?” 

“It’s not a big deal. Sometimes it’s just frustrating how a banana can sell for thousands while I’m here. Producing meaningless sketches for arbitrary grades.” Miyeon’s voice softens as she goes on. 

“I think your work will appear at the Louvre or D’Orsay one day,” says Shuhua. 

“You’re joking, aren’t you? I’ll take it as a compliment.” Jokes, pranks, everyone always thinks she can’t be serious. There are perks to that though. 

“I’ll even buy your version of a banana on the wall so people can see your art in fancy high-end galleries. It can be like a papaya glued to a glass-stained window.” 

“Are you sure, you’ll have to pay millions for it,” teases Miyeon. 

“It won’t be hard. Maybe I’ll have to start working as a killer for hire. Anything for a fat cheque.” She hears a snort, her only warning before Miyeon stands. Shuhua raises her head. 

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, I need more coffee,” says Miyeon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Assassin Shuhua and handler Yuqi, that’s the tea. I don't make the rules.
> 
> This time around, I didn’t have a particular song in mind while writing. I read a comment somewhere on Youtube saying that “a villain is someone’s hero” and then this was born with the help of study music. 


	3. mares of the night

_ Sharp and alluring, pulling her in. Lithe fingers trace her collarbone, a frigid trail up her throat. _

_ Leaving her pale and breathless.  _

_ She’s no longer a child.  _

* * *

The first time Shuhua saw them was when she was three. Bleary-eyed, half-asleep, she clung to her father, holding onto his pinky loosely. Being dragged along to the balcony, her tiny legs taking three steps for one of his strides, her father’s gruff voice in her ear. Telling her to look into the distance and listen. 

She heard the bells ring through the city, thousands chiming inside their homes, reaching the wind to be carried far. The sound was gentle, leaving her wanting to hear more. The ringing was playful and inviting, she decided. 

“We ring the bells every night,” said her father. He pushed her closer to the railing. “You must not forget.” 

In the dark of the night, it was hard to make out anything, but he urged her to try again when she said she couldn’t see. So she squinted, looking beyond the city walls, staring into ancient forest. 

At the edge, they appeared. A hundred shimmering snow white mares. Ghostly and ethereal in body. 

They began to run, morphing into flesh and blood. A skip in their silent steps, thin wispy clothing trailing, floating. 

“The Fae,” her father growled. Shuhua shivered, the wind increased in intensity as they drew nearer. The gates were open, baring the city like an offering. The Fae had entered. Running amok in the streets, chaotic, yet controlled in their movements. 

The bells continued to ring while they raced in their revelry. Pausing in front of houses at random, knocking lightly on wooden doors, then resuming their fluid dashing. They weren’t laughing in the slightest, but humble smiles were graced upon their faces.

Her father didn’t move, not until the Fae were gone and out of the city. Reverting to spectral mares, galloping, vanishing within reach of the looming elderwood trees. 

Announcing his presence, a guard then called behind her, huffing. “Your majesty, the city is clear.” 

* * *

_ Her blood still runs warm. She swallows when she’s given a roguish smirk. A new promise to erase her guilt so she would only know relief. An even older promise that she must fulfill.  _

_ Who is she to refuse?  _

* * *

Strong arms wrapped around Shuhua to hold her tighter, to comfort and squeeze the sorrows from her hollow mind. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t because it didn’t feel real. 

The body being lowered into the ground felt like a lie. The washed hair and spotless robe convinced her this was a dream. Shuhua couldn’t bear to look as everyone kneeled, paying their final respects to their beloved queen. 

The hand on her shoulder forced her down. The hard frozen dirt numbed her skin. 

Weeping to her left and right, grieving in exaggeration. Abhorrence welled in her throat and the phony masquerade carried on. 

Little by little, the people’s sobs faded into white noise. Over the hunched mourners, her gaze met eyes full of life at the edge where the grass grew from black soil. Shuhua imagined they both shared this unspoken derision, that the two of them were in on the irony. The figure retreated into the shadows when everyone rose, mumbling low groans. 

Hiding their pains of kneeling, anxious to keep up a faulty charade. 

Shuhua was ten, but the hilarity of her mother’s burial taking place beside the Fae’s forest wasn’t lost on her. 

* * *

_ The cold grips her again, cupping her face. It was never an invitation in the first place and they both knew it. Mercy in the past is power in the present.  _

_ She’s a mess.  _

* * *

Shuhua was fourteen when she came face to face with one of them. She was on her way back. Hurrying, footsteps quickening. 

The bells rung, louder and clearer than ever. Filling her with dread rather than the normal soothing wave. 

There was no way she could make it, she had seen the Fae run countless times. They would be here in seconds. Nobody would open their door now, no one in their right mind would risk it.

All she could do is hide. Hide and hope the Fae would never find her.

Into a cramped alley, crouching behind the barrels, Shuhua shriveled into herself. Holding her satchel closer, gripping until her knuckles turned white. The herbs inside were definitely ruined; they had seemed so important and precious. She had snuck out just for a couple rare leaves and roots. 

Hours later, they were the reason why she was going to be caught. Because of a few silly plants she had been obsessing over while dreaming of being an apothecary. 

Particularly, a dream born the moment her knees hit the frozen ground. She would never live it out now. Everyone who met the Fae in-person would vanish.

When she looked up, there was grace and elegance incarnate, stealing her breath away. 

* * *

The guards, the servants, they were stunned to see her. Their frantic surprise, worries put to ease, asking her where she was and how she did it. Her father pushed through, demanding everyone to leave her alone and give her space.

Swept into a bone-crushing hug, the weight of her promise made in the dead of the night lingered. 

* * *

_ The storm of hooves drum a guttural cacophony and soon hands cover her eyes. Suggesting, commanding blind trust. She will yield as she had done before.  _

_ Lips brush against her ear. She follows, a misty haze is spun, guiding her to focus on what is all too enticing.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit different from the usual with the inclusion of short passages interspersed through moments in the past. But basically, I can sum this up with: Miyeon drags Shuhua away to who knows where and Miyeon is big beautiful wiccan energy. 
> 
> Inspiration was taken from “Mares of the Night” by Glen Gabriel. No lyrics, just instruments, it’s folk and dark. I just had to write a short drabble:3


	4. tmi, but my mind is a car wreck waiting to happen

Alcohol is tolerable when mixed with litres of sweetness. Diabetes-inducing, the send-her-to-the-hospital kind of sugary. She stands by her philosophy: Why drink when she could straight-up chug caffeinated sports drinks instead? There’s also that other tiny glaring reason for why she doesn’t drink, (she’s a lightweight). 

Miyeon can certainly make an exception tonight. 

Clenching the glass, she raises it to her lips. Willingly swallows for such foul-tasting rot to burn her throat. 

The shot goes down uneasily so she drinks again, taking another one. The raucous partygoers, (hormonal fuckers, everyone of them), the thumping of the bass, it’s becoming manageable. Miyeon slides off the stool, staggering a bit, pushing into the crowd. 

It's easy blending in, just to forget herself for a night. Skin on skin, the smell of euphoria reeking in the air. 

Someone takes her hands, guiding them, and she’s swaying, dancing with a stranger. The room is darkly lit; frankly, it’s better. Miyeon doesn’t care, doesn’t want to know who she’s with.

Grasping at broad shoulders, her lips graze his neck. A sharp breath. Hands at her waist, lowering further, and it’s pleasant for a second. Until it’s all too much. 

Stumbling back, she wrenches herself free, ignoring the groan of disappointment. What is she doing? 

The all too comfortable crowd has taken a turn for the worse. The acrid smell of sweat, the nearby vomit on the floor, mindless grinding bodies. The overbearing bass makes her sick, the heaviness going to her stomach. Dizziness hits her harder than a truck. 

She shoves her way out, one step at a time, wobbling, but she’s still on her feet, wandering around the house. Looking for a way out. It’s a miracle that she finds the door. 

The hairs on her arms raise, goosebumps forming; in her intoxicated state, it’s true she has somehow found the door. 

To the motherfucking backyard.

Miyeon groans when she sees the ornate ugly marble statues supposedly for decoration, the sweeping green landscape of every plant imaginable. And of course, the amorous couple in the corner next to the plastic palm tree, lip to lip, shedding clothes furiously. She did not need to see their matching hot pink thongs. 

Good for them, at least some people are enjoying the party. Not everyone is down in the dumps, pretending everything is alright. 

Another drink doesn’t seem too bad. 

* * *

She wakes to incessant tapping on her shoulder. “Party’s over. Getting kicked out.” Rising from the counter, Miyeon blinks, squinting. Who just talked to her? 

“Miyeon, we need to go.” Wiping her mouth, she smears the back of her hand on her pants. 

“It’s me. You drank so much, Miyeonnn, you can’t drive anymore!” 

“Wha, Minnie?” Miyeon slurs. 

“The one an’ only, ha!” High pitched, whiny. Someone else is also clearly drunk. “I called someone.”

“Who?” The other girl reaches over to Miyeon, flicking her forehead. “To drive us back.” Slumping back onto the counter, Miyeon closes her eyes. The pounding sensation remains, throbbing. 

She would later vaguely remember being guided out of the house and into a car, dozing off as the driver and Minnie exchanged unintelligible words. Low hums and the rumbling engine rock her to sleep. 

* * *

The morning after is always the worst, serving as a reminder to never drink again, even if she has every excuse to wallow in her misery. 

Her mouth is drier than her love life (nonexistent, at least to her own knowledge). The soreness in her gut? Identical, interchangeable to the aftershock of being punched repeatedly. Adding to that, her head. Oh god, her head. 

Miyeon waddles from her bed to the medicine cabinet. Fumbling around for painkillers, frowning when she comes up empty handed. She had restocked only a few weeks ago. 

She entertains the thought of someone robbing her apartment when she was out, taking not her flat screen TV nor her profusion of Apple gadgets, but her painkillers and only her painkillers. 

She'll assume Minnie had done it. The other person who knows her passcode had been on the other side of the town. 

For how much she drank, she's surprised her place is in order. When she's drunk and out of her mind, her apartment usually ends up looking like a tornado was birthed in her living room. 

Grabbing her phone on the table, she hesitates, wondering if she really wants to see her call history, her texts. She has no recollection of last night’s events. Maybe she remembers being helped to a car, but that’s about it.

Surprisingly, she didn’t call anyone; her call history is empty, the same as before she went to the party. Text messages next then. She blatantly skips and avoids looking at her conversation with Soojin, there would be nothing there. Scrolling, thumbing down, she’s relieved she hasn’t embarrassed herself too badly. 

**[Miyeon]** luvvvv you! 

**[Woogie]** lol

**[Miyeon]** i would die for you, YOU’RE TOO CUTE, space buns adsflkdfks

**[Woogie]** lol

**[Kim Minnie]** Miyeon, where are you? I can’t find you in the house, did you leave already?

**[Miyeon]** Tom nook? A greedy capitalist. taking advantage of the lumpenproletariat. You can’t convince me otherwise. 

**[Kim Minnie]** Did you drink? i’ll come find u

**[Miyeon]** 2 shots of vodka

**[Kim Minnie]** holy

**[Miyeon]** left in the bottle

She also sent a string of emojis and stickers to Soyeon. That’s okay, Soyeon can deal with over a hundred speedy Usagyuuuns. 

* * *

Miyeon receives the call first. 

“Hello?” 

“I woke up and it didn’t hit me, but then I realized. You drank last night?!” screams Minnie. Miyeon jerks away from her phone, Minnie is as always. Very loud. 

“Yeah. Free alcohol.”

“You never drink though. Did something happen?”  _ She’s a wreck. She wants to move on.  _ Miyeon bites her lip, her breathing slowing. 

“It’s nothing big. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? By the way, you wouldn’t believe who took us home last night.” Her throat, she struggles to swallow.

“Shuhua!” cries Minnie. “That girl always refuses to go to parties, much less pick us up when we’re drunk. I only had to call her once, she answered right away.” 

_ Shut up.  _

“I wonder what’s gotten into her, is it the power of love? I told her you were drunk and she agreed to come so fast.” Minnie’s tone is cheeky and the urge to hurl reappears. Her fingers curl at her sides. Clenching unconsciously.  _ Shut up. Stop talking.  _ “She said you wouldn’t answer her calls and she was very worried, it’s kind of cute, you know? I bet you turned off your phone on purpose.” 

_ She didn’t. That’s stupid.  _

“I don’t think any of us saw it coming that you two would date, you guys were at each other's throats for the longest time, but look! It’s been three years and–”

“Minnie, can I call you back later.” She’s practically spitting, grinding those words out. They don’t flow, they’re a little unnatural, a little broken. 

If she cried right here, right now, would her tears be fake?

“Are you okay? You know you can tell me anything,” says Minnie. “Are you guys fighting?”  _ She wishes.  _ “Don’t worry, you two have gotten through so much, I’m sure you guys will be fine.” 

Miyeon doesn’t think they’ll ever be fine again. But it’s too early, she’s rooted to the floor, rigid, and she doesn’t know, she’s tired of lying. She doesn’t want to say anything. 

“It’s not that. I’m okay Minnie, I’m just feeling sick.” Fervent excitement on the other side pierces her ear.

“Shuhua said she placed your painkillers and a bottle of water by your bedside. Did you take them?” It gets worse because Minnie had to continue. “We even stopped at a 7-Eleven to buy raisin tea since she’s worried you wouldn’t take care of yourself. She left them in the kitchen.” 

Miyeon grips her phone harder, feet mindlessly walking to the kitchen. Bottles of the hangover recovery drink are lined up neatly on the counter. “How nice of her,” says Miyeon. 

She knows it sounds awkward and stilted, Shuhua isn’t a mere acquaintance. Though it isn’t far from the truth. 

“Miyeon. Is everything really alright?” says Minnie, concern apparent, dropping any hint of teasing. She should tell her everything, this is her best friend who she considers to be her sister. If Minnie was going through something, she would want to know as well. 

“I’m just feeling sick, don’t worry.” 

Miyeon looks at the bottles of raisin tea, an entire twenty-four pack sitting there. Unwrapped, as if the buyer knew she wouldn’t bother to open them if the plastic still held them together. She would feel bad if she threw them out. 

Wasting food never sits well with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miyeon doing them mental gymnastics, we’ve all been there before.
> 
> I’m back with a song-inspired piece and it's not action or fantasy! Finals hit me hard and my prof can't teach, thank them for the swerve away from my preferred genres. I shall enjoy this short week-long break before I get thrown back into learning how to spell Rybczynski properly. 
> 
> After listening to Aimer’s words and amazashi’s Alcohol on repeat, this oneshot wrote itself. Here are some of the lyrics which I took heavy inspo from, they're not in order. 
> 
> Source: lyricstranslate
> 
> amazarashi - Alcohol
> 
> Noisy clatter and ear bursting music.  
> Swept away by that wave, I was supposed to have forgotten everything  
> Something like solitude on this night,  
> something like a clean kiss yet to come.
> 
> If you deal with your guilt,  
> that night you bore an innocent face  
> will shield it all for you


	5. celestial realms never suited you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have no clue what xianxia is, it’s basically a genre of Chinese fantasy with mythological elements, drawing from a hodgepodge of belief systems. The premise of the majority of the plots involves “cultivators” seeking eternal life, powers, etc. 

Shoved to the ground, forced to kneel. Hands tied tight behind her back, Shuhua does not snarl. Not a sound escapes her mouth. 

Behind Shuhua, the colossals, the twin jade titans have unfurled their crimson wings, tipped with black. They cross their arms, standing guard. No one will be escaping today. 

Miyeon thinks the grim, defiant fire in Shuhua’s eyes suits her. As if it has always been there, always have belonged. The cold, dark blues and violets, creeping up Shuhua’s exposed left arm, those do not belong. Withering black, smoke curling in wisps. They clash with the vibrant gold of her aura, that of a divine child of the Heavens. 

No more than a thousand years old. 

Outwardly, Miyeon remains impassive. Her state of dress is untarnished. Only her hairpiece, tilting at an uncannily odd angle, divulges the cascade of emotions she is facing. Miyeon stays still, seated in her place among the Celestial Immortals. On the throne of hers, surrounded by nine others of its kind. 

Gray, smooth steps separate them from the criminal. Who does not grovel, does not beg. Shuhua is not asking for understanding. Nor acceptance. 

Miyeon recognizes it. Unabashed, wearing dignity and pride. She wants to say she is proud of Shuhua. But she cannot find her voice today. 

A fortnight ago, underneath the blooming peach blossoms, Shuhua had not given Miyeon an answer. 

Miyeon had asked Shuhua again. Her intuition warning her of the hint of demonic energy lingering, gripping Shuhua's spirit. 

She received a meek apology. Short words of regret and longing, conveying hopes of lost times and fondness. Knowing banishment awaits. 

In the end, Miyeon cannot rearrange fate to suit her wants. This is a righteously unfair trial and she would not dare to speak against the other Celestial Immortals’ judgement. 

Shuhua never looks her in the eye, never glances in her direction. It is mercy upon her soul, lest remorse compels her hand to commit an incriminating act. The cloth binding Shuhua’s hands would be far too easy to cut. Miyeon’s sword is within reach. 

It would take a flick of the wrist. And a thousand hovering blades would be at Miyeon’s throat. 

As the sentence is bellowed for the Heavens to hear, as her beloved is dragged by her shoulders far away from the steps, Miyeon stands. Fearing curious glances and scrutiny.

Yet the attention is not on her, it is drawn to the approaching horde of demons. An orderly march, the Empress of the Underworld walking at the head of the escort. Ghost white hair rippling in the wind. Blood red robes, hems at the thighs, her beauty unparalleled. Temptation incarnate. 

The horns atop her head betray her true parentage. When the Empress speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. 

A deal is struck. 

Miyeon finally sinks back down. Motionless on her throne. 

* * *

At the edge of the cliff, tumbling rocks below, Miyeon waits. She listens for the spiritual hum of the demons, caring for a particular lilt. Catching onto its threads. 

The Empress has arrived. 

“I will take care of her.” Miyeon allows a smile, hearing that. The bold reassurance soothes her mind.

“I have no qualms. I am forever indebted to you, Soojin.” 

Some thoughts should be kept to herself, but now is not the time. Miyeon swallows, easing the dryness of her throat. “Shuhua can be the embodiment of a human child, she claims to be wise beyond her years, but she has not reached her thousandth year.”

“She will soon. Once autumn passes, after the full moon.” Soojin sits beside her. 

“When I first met her in the gardens in her fifth hundred year, I sensed the Heavens would not keep her for an eternity. Soojin,” Miyeon clasps her own fingers together, “when she is in the Underworld with you, please do not restrain her. Shackles will break her spirit. I beg you.” 

“You do not have to beg. I will never raise a hand against her.” 

“Shuhua vows she is immune to loneliness, but she craves affection like no other. Perhaps your presence, a visit every fifty years will suffice, though that is improbable.” Miyeon is unsure whether Soojin will fulfill her requests. She tries, nonetheless. 

“Are there any details I must be aware of?” Soojin stands. The moon has risen and the gates to the Underworld have opened. 

Miyeon pauses, fleeting promises passing in favour of simplicity. “Tell her I forgive her.”

Soojin nods and she is gone. Miyeon is alone once more. 

Watching the tidal push and pull of the ocean in the Mortal Realm. Knowing she is willing to wait for the sounds of sharp jests, adoring, noxiously affectionate praise, and the fragile murmurings of the night to return to her. 

She will wait for longer than an eternity. If that is what must be done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My galaxy brain has been reactivated at 2 am so I wrote this in a very short amount of time. I will edit when I wake up. 
> 
> Summer has ended and fall has begun so here comes ballad season. Which means digging out my mandopop playlist. 
> 
> When miss g.e.m. said “yan shi li de hua hui kai, li kai de ni hui hui lai,” I felt that. So I present to you, xianxia mishu. 
> 
> Inspo: G.E.M. - 岩石裡的花 
> 
> Lyrics: 岩石裡的花會開 離開的你會回來 (The flowers in the rock will bloom and you, who had left, will come back.) 
> 
> This is one of the rare times when my youth spent at weekly chinese school has paid off. Whatever my Mandarin teacher has taught me, giving me the gift of knowledge, I gave back tenfold. I have forgotten almost everything :’) 
> 
> I honestly have no real idea how xianxia works so I used the bits and pieces of my memories as a child watching the hundreds of thousands rehashes of Sun Wukong. The people’s obsession with that darn monkey, I’ll never truly figure out the roots of it.
> 
> I’m done rambling, thanks for reading. 


	6. red card

Shuhua points to the sign near the door. Painted on messily, letters in varying sizes, the bloody red font doesn’t make it any easier to read in the dim room, but it serves its purpose (intimidating bald crusty pastors with 24k gold teeth into wetting their pants). 

_ Welcome to the After Life: Since you died, you deserve at least one free drink! _

_ Rules:  _

  * _Your cold dead body is decaying in some shape or form._


  * _You must tell us why you died._


  * _We’ll judge your soul even if your throat is drier than Miyeon’s when she sees Shuhua._



About the last criteria, number three. Miyeon had no say in that one. She’s not saying it’s true nor is she saying that it’s false, Shuhua went ahead with it instantaneously. Which means, Miyeon had no room to protest or argue her case since she’s not quite sure about the rule’s validity either. But it doesn’t really matter in the end.

No one will recognize their names here (because Arbiters don’t wear name tags). Simple. 

So even if some dead random bloke shows up here, at the bar, they won’t know those names on the sign belong to the Arbiters, thus Miyeon is safe from cheek-reddening embarrassment. 

Shuhua jabs her finger towards the sign again. Slamming her other hand on the counter, glasses and mugs rattle. “The drink is optional, buddy. But rule number two isn’t. So I suggest you tell us why you’re here before I give you the red card.” 

Miyeon would hate to be on the receiving end of Shuhua’s anger. How frightening and terrifying. And attractive.

The girl sitting on the other side of the counter leans onto the counter. Smirking awfully in a way that reminds Miyeon of her human days, the times when her younger brother had become a capitalist slave paying microtransactions. It’s a devious expression, full of acceptance. There’s no going back.

“Well if you insist, let’s do it, baby.” The girl winks at Shuhua. Miyeon just continues to wipe the counter with a cloth, watching Shuhua clench her jaw. Visibly unnerved by the other girl’s provocation. 

“I was eating lunch at a restaurant with my sixth mistress when the second missus walked through the door and threw a knife at my heart. Which I dodged, thankfully. Then, a soccer van containing all the other missuses, the misses, the mistresses, the wife, crashed through the window. Which I did not dodge, unfortunately.” Exhaling heavily, the girl shakes her head sadly. “I may have assassinated more than 3000 corrupt state officials, I may have been the top agent in the field. But I was done in.” 

And now, Miyeon is hooked. She has to ask, she has to know. “By what?”

“By a 2003 Honda Odyssey.” 

“Oh, hey. I used to own that car.” It’s true. Miyeon remembers that day very well when she bought it. She had finally convinced Shuhua a minivan was worth their while. 

The girl laughs, “then you know how there was a defect?” 

“Yeah, it’s what brought this girl,” Miyeon nudges her elbow into Shuhua’s side, gently, of course, “and I, into this bar. At least the kids survived.” 

“Are the kids still alive?” 

“Nope. I gave them the yellow card a while back. They were disappointments, they didn’t become doctors or lawyers. Or software engineers. Lived mediocre lives. So they were sent to the Asphodel Meadows, no paradise for them–” 

“Okay. That’s enough.” Shuhua glares at Miyeon and lord. Arbiters don’t need to sleep. However, if there was a couch in the bar, that’s where she would be sleeping tonight. 

Miyeon swallows her fear, resuming her task. Wiping the counter dutifully in silence. 

It’s what she does best according to Shuhua. 

Miyeon does this for some time. Not realizing how quiet it has gotten, how she’s been wiping at the same spot. She looks up to Shuhua still scowling at her. Head tilting in the human girl’s direction. 

Commanding Miyeon soundlessly. Oh. 

Miyeon reaches into her pocket, without looking, and produces a small green card. She sees nostrils flaring, veins pulsing in Shuhua’s neck. 

Hand fumbling around again, a yellow card comes out this time. The frigid stare she’s receiving hasn’t lessened. (So she quickly tosses both the yellow and green cards away). 

She finally draws the red card, holding it between her index and middle fingers. Miyeon glances at Shuhua who nods. Somewhat approvingly. 

Miyeon turns to the human girl, hiding the card behind her back. “I’m sorry, uh–whatever your name is.”

“Yuqi.”

“But I sentence you to eternal damnation.” Miyeon closes her eyes. Knowing she’s done this so much her aim won’t be off. “Don’t worry, I heard they just added a sauna to Tartarus.” A small consolation prize. 

With a flick of the wrist, she sends the card flying. Hears a soft smack on skin. Opening her eyes, Yuqi is gone.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Shuhua snorts.

“She wasn’t that bad. I was going to give her the yellow card.” 

Shuhua grabs the cloth from Miyeon, throwing it into the sink. Turns on the tap. “Because she was killed by a Honda Odyssey just like us?” 

In Miyeon’s defense, she couldn’t exercise forgiving empathy towards Yuqi (womanizing isn’t exactly worthy of compassion). Building rapport through mode of death seemed like the best bet. “I do try to connect with everyone who passes by. You don’t like it?”

“Did you have to tell her our kids were sent to Asphodel Meadows because you were sad they became Starbucks baristas instead?” 

“I didn’t tell her about the barista part. You interrupted me before I got to it.” 

The water stops. Another audible sigh. “Every day. You like telling puny humans how we both died and became Arbiters,” states Shuhua. (She’s right, but Miyeon wants to pretend otherwise.)

“It gets harder and harder to understand modern humans, if I build a bond before I sentence them, then maybe my judgement would be more fair.” 

A balled-up towel hits her in the head. “Say that again. You tried to send a poor innocent girl to Tartarus yesterday.” 

Just this once, Miyeon can’t quite remember. “Soobin?”

“No. Soojin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Death Parade/Greek underworld au
> 
> Unedited (you’re brave for reading). This is the 20 minute stress-induced product of me procrastinating and refusing to write my papers. 


	7. celestial realms never suited you pt 2

Nimble fingers pick up the chess piece. 

Seconds pass as her opponent rolls the wooden flat disk in her palm; then swiftly places it several points away, capturing her piece, the  _ elephant.  _

And there it goes, it’s tossed to the side. Off the board. 

Yuqi wears her trademark pesky grin, mocking her. “Your move.” 

Miyeon doesn’t even want to look at the board when she knows she will lose in precisely five turns. Yuqi’s intellect far surpasses any of the Celestial Immortals, she is famed for her wisdom, her reasoning abilities.

No Celestial Immortal would dare play against Yuqi in fear of their egos kicked and wounded to the point of no return. Her peers aptly describe the experience as being thrown down a well as a mortal. 

Humans can’t fly. In other words, playing chess against Yuqi is not fun. 

Miyeon reluctantly moves her  _ general  _ one point to the left, readying herself to embrace the incoming teasing. 

“How strategic of you, Miyeon.” 

She sighs and wonders how Yuqi can tread the fine line between naive honesty and outright ridiculing so well. It must be an innate skill, one which Miyeon has never properly learned. “Please finish this faster.” 

“If you insist, but I beg to differ. Something tells me you wish to prolong our match,” says Yuqi. Never subtle in her approach. Almost gloating. “I sensed a hidden agenda attached to your earlier invitation. You wish to converse with me over matters of the mind.” 

Continuing on with her unsolicited soliloquy. “And who am I to refuse sharing wisdom with my dear, troubled friend?” 

Yuqi deserves to be knocked down to the Mortal Realm to learn humility.

Miyeon snorts. Listening to such an arrogant deduction irks her like no other. Though it is because said deduction is always accurate. 

Flying true to its target. “Not everyone wishes to hear your wisdom,” Miyeon counters. 

“And not everyone willingly wishes to play a match against me.” Yuqi moves her  _ chariot  _ to the side and effectively corners Miyeon’s final piece, causing her to curse internally. 

“Checkmate.” 

Forget five turns. Her loss is upon her in one turn. 

“Though I would ask what is troubling you, I already have an idea,” says Yuqi, clearing away the chess pieces. Putting them into an ornate black box.

“Soyeon has agreed to host the Empress of the Underworld for two nights in celebration of the new year. And you question whether you should ask the Empress on Shuhua’s well-being.” 

Would knowing how Shuhua is doing make her feel better? She highly doubts it. 

Knowledge of Shuhua festering in an underground prison, battered and bruised, would not ease her mind. Confirmation of her assumptions would not change anything. The status quo stands. 

Miyeon would never dare go against a set judgement. 

Nevertheless, more than a thousand years have gone by, yet this amount of time has passed within a blink of the eye. For the other Celestial Immortals that is. 

Time trailed slowly for Miyeon, dripping like melting candle wax under the dullest flicker of a flame. She had been able to make astute observations of the changing seasons. She noted how they ceased to blend together following Shuhua’s banishment. 

If this continues any longer, Miyeon may usurp Soyeon’s role as the resident poet. 

“Is it time for me to move on? Shall I give my state of mind a reprieve?” Miyeon asks. Giving in. She might as well discuss this with Yuqi and take advantage of her sage advice. 

It is remarkable how little intellect she herself seems to possess. Granted that Miyeon did court Shuhua who proved to be a black thorn to the Celestial Realm’s laws. 

And she was not ignorant of Shuhua’s fate either. She had blindly forged onward without a care for the path Shuhua was doomed to tread. 

“My sources tell me you will have your reprieve tonight at the banquet.” Yuqi carries the box under her arm, standing. A sympathetic gaze meets her eyes. 

“I advise you to prepare yourself in advance.”

_ \---- _

_ “I will take care of her.”  _

Promised a lifetime ago, even those with failing eyes can see Shuhua was evidently well-taken care of. 

Miyeon can feel her throat constricting with every step Shuhua takes. With each step, it’s a bit harder to breathe and she knows she’s not dreaming. 

Soojin leads her delegation, captivating attention with her elegant walk down the Great Hall. And beside her as her equal?

The gold phoenix hairpin gives her identity away.  _ Consort of the Empress.  _

In matching crimson robes, a sleeve cut at the shoulder, baring her arm, the girl is as beautiful as Miyeon remembers. Silken black hair flows below her shoulders. She casts an inescapable allure to her gait–while pulling at her heart in a way she thought she would never come across again. 

Shuhua. 

Shuhua who bows together with Soojin, lowering herself with utmost grace. 

“You may rise,” says Soyeon. Her voice projects through the hall and Soyeon signals their esteemed guests to take a seat at the long table. 

Miyeon isn’t the only one who is baffled at the turn of events, what has transpired the past thousand years. Hushed fervent murmurings erupt around her, distrustful glances are directed at Shuhua.

She can’t blame them. 

A criminal who was exiled from the Celestial Realm—sitting in the Great Hall.

This is unheard of. 

The dark blues and violets swirling around Shuhua’s left arm have remained. Withering smoke is still curling in wisps. To her fellow Celestial Immortals, this was akin to a slap in the face. 

Corrupted energy radiates from Shuhua in spades, stronger than it was previously. But Miyeon can tell it has been fairly subdued. 

The user is in complete control. 

“Silence!” Soyeon slams her fist on the table. Extinguishing the murmurs. 

“Is this how we treat our guests?” says Soyeon, her voice slightly cracking. Miyeon guesses Soyeon did not envisage this new development concerning Shuhua. 

The tension does not dissipate. 

When the feast officially commences, several Celestial Immortals rise from their seats. They choose to skip this part of the night altogether. Walking out without acknowledging the foreign delegation. 

Her stomach is flipping, she has long lost her appetite. 

Miyeon stands and joins them. 

\----

The door swings open, closing promptly. 

She turns around, prepared to scold the unlucky soul who has entered her chambers without permission. Only to grasp the table behind her. 

Weakly staggering to her feet. Mute.

“It has been awhile, hasn’t it?” Shuhua murmurs, slowly coming towards her. “I trust the years have been kind to you.”

She abandons her thoughts of reconciliation. Upon hearing those words, blinding fury engulfs her rationality. Erasing her remaining doubts all at once. 

Contempt guides Miyeon to speak. “I can say the same for you.”

She’s met with lost eyes. Miyeon laughs in disbelief, a wretched broken sound escapes. So she digs deeper, intending to hurt.

“I can see you were well taken care of. What was it like, warming Soojin’s bed every night? Taming the Empress with your body?” 

There it is. 

The reaction she’s looking for. Lips pressed together, the stiffness. The onset of rage. 

Miyeon watches Shuhua’s every move. Memorizing how anger takes form upon her face, how the tainted energy around her arm threatens to break free from its invisible seal. On the brink of release. 

Shuhua must be seconds from losing control. 

“Go on,” Miyeon goads. 

She doesn’t expect the sharp edge of a hairpin upon her throat. Pressing lightly. 

Distance between them closed, breaths mingling in the air. Shuhua’s other hand grips her shoulder tightly. Squeezing hard to crush. 

“You don’t know what I have gone through,” snarls Shuhua. 

Skin breaking, a drop of blood is drawn. 

The pressure on her shoulders lessens. Miyeon can feel a hand shifting to her collarbones, gradually trailing up her neck. 

The burning sensation left behind in its trail is nothing gentle. 

The touch of blackened fire collides with her nature, staying, prolonging the smoldering pain. Miyeon is divinity, she has never known the taste of corrupted magic. Its hunger to devour her entire being is her latest surprise. 

Miyeon’s eyes widen slightly, but she does not flinch. Not in front of Shuhua.

Never in front of Shuhua. 

The hairpin is retracted and Miyeon holds her breath in wait. 

She’s roughly pulled forward, lips upon her own.

Impatient. 

Needy. 

Aggressive unlike anything else, clawing at the front of her robes, Shuhua presses into her. Miyeon returns to her senses. Closing her eyes, she reciprocates in full, fighting back with the fire she was given. 

Raking the girl’s back in her frustration. Wanting to see red. 

Miyeon relents to the fact the girl she loved has slipped away from her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spend too much time listening to Taemin - Heaven and thinking about xianxia mishu. The solution to that is listening to even more Taemin and being very scared of starting a xianxia mishu chapter story. 
> 
> Happy new year everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> add me on [twt](https://twitter.com/ahealthyscalp?s=09), don't be shy


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